


Kinks and Jinks

by Hikario



Category: Gotham City Sirens (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 21:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikario/pseuds/Hikario
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harley Quinzel was a doctor. Confidentiality isn't an issue any more. Neither are boundaries. Eddie really always was kinda sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinks and Jinks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wiccy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiccy/gifts).



Working Gotham is hard. That’s why a girl has to stay two steps ahead; think out the kinks and jinks of a plan before it ever even begins ta’ happen.

Dr. Quinzel’s second week on the intake and assessment shift at Arkam was a kink. Nobody interestin‘, nobody crazy enough to write a publishable paper on, not even anybody with any of the good parlour tricks. The crocodile nutzo from Friday was, at least, kinda fun to look at.

Nope, instead week two consisted of the clowns in footie pyjamas. The fake little half-ass momma’s boys with a gimmick. Harley leaned back in her chair and drew a new pencil from her bag to chew on. It was gonna be a looooooong three hours to lunch.

She had already spent the better part of an hour trying to push an MMPI on a pedophile in a funny hat and monocle. The idiot had developed a cheesy British accent this week, the kind Harley would fake after watching one of the Harry Potter movies. The stupid kind. He kept trying to write “crumpets” in on a multiple choice test.

She spared a glance down at her appointments list. Under the now scratched out “J. Tetch” was listed one “E. Nigma.” Clever. Bet his mommy liked rubix cubes and kitten puzzles too.

“Prisoner entering.” the weary-looking guard, a 6’2” tank of a woman with a no-nonsense crew cut and a beaten-down sigh in her eye called out as she pressed the lock release. Harley leaned in to at least try and look interested.

He was a scrawny, lanky nerd wearing the standard bright orange fare, looking skittish and haughty. They all seemed so proud, these half-crazy all-human types. Defence mechanism, she’d bet. Harley pigeonholed’em as good as old Freudy-poo. They let this particular wack-job keep his bowler, a funny green hat with a question mark glued on in felt. Great. Just perfect. So she’d skip the identity consolidation stage of the super-villain rehab handbook, what’s a girl to do? Instead, she’d skip straight to stage two.

“Your mamma didn’t love you.” She hazarded, tipping her chair back and nibbling on the gummy pink eraser end of her pencil.

“Excuse me?

“No, too easy, huh? Ok. Your daddy slap you around? That it?” A tiny bit of rubber flaked off the nub; Harley discretely spat it out the side of her mouth.

“This is HARDLY what I was expecting from the world-class Arkham…”

“Oh, he diddled ya.” It was hard not to smirk while watching the man’s eyes widen, his last word stammering to an enraged stutter. “Oh, or maybe not.” Harley leaned in, a faint smirk dancing across her lips. She had’em hooked. “Maybe it was the nanny…”

“Enough!” Nigma bellowed, slamming his knees up into the table, nearly spilling the luke-warm cup of coffee that made up Harley’s breakfast. “Cease your rubbish. My mental state has nothing to do with the mundane triflings that mire the mentalities of lesser mortals! I am above such disgusting and vulgar drives that make the masses writhe.”

“Then what makes you tick?” Was this freak-show going to make it that easy for her? Jeez, and she spent YEARS in school for this…

“It is all the fault of that infuriating Batman!” Nigma slammed his cuffed wrists down on the table, another pathetic burst of aggression. The coffee gently rippled. Tank the guard cast her an exasperated glance that pleaded with her not to rile them up. Great, another one of these…

“So, let’s get this straight.” Harley set her pencil down on the table, next to Nigma‘s chart. “You’re in here cus you… dangled a bus full of nuns over the edge of a cliff. That right?”

“There were thirteen nuns.” Nigma spat in a whisper.

“’Scuse me?”

“Because the thirteenth digit of Pi was crucial to the unravelling…”

“Cut it out with the math! Jeez, I’m a psychologist, not a rocket scientist. Sheesh.” Tucking her pencil safely behind her ear, Harley leaned back. This nut was cracked, she could tell already. Across the table, she could see him deflating, the fight out of him in one blow. “So, you’re telling me that you had to kidnap nuns to show up some wack-job in a cape and long underwear.” Harley let that one sit, still in the air. Nigma was slow to respond, his sudden anger having defused into pathetic misery just as quickly as it had formed. This was a defeated man, not a crazy. Not like Mr. Tea-and-Crumpets-and-Little-Girls was crazy.

“That… that sycophantic catamite is just as bad. Disrespectful little brat shattered my nose, absolutely shattered it!”

“You got picked on a lot as a kid, huh?” She could see his eyes darken, lashes fluttering. Sore spot. Press on. “Bet a lot of big guys put a crack in your nose for you. Dumb lummoxes.” Nigma’s lips pressed tightly together. Harley let him stew for a long, quiet moment. “So you left him a note, what, to help him along? Just in case?” Now the empathetic smile, coming a little easier then usual. “You didn’t really wanna wack the nuns. Just… screw with the bully a bit.”

“He’s brilliant.” Nigma was staring blankly at the table. “Nearly as brilliant as me; and yet…” he trailed off.

“Yet?” She pressed.

“He’s a gigantic ape!” Nigma burst, pleading. “How can he be as smart as I, who spends every waking moment refining my genius at the great expense of my anatomical structure…”

“You’re a shrimp, he’s some lummox who had it all handed to him?” Harley ventured conversationally.

“Well, yes!” Nigma blurted, continuing pitifully, “that is true. But that’s not… well… I’m not that simple a beast.” a silent ‘am I?’ left hanging. This one was fast, Harley mused. Not five minutes in and it was already time to take pity, throw him a bone and wrap him up with it.

“Well, that cool thirty grand in church tidings you swiped tells me you’re more then just a bitter schoolyard geek.” Nigma looked faintly encouraged, hopeful for a moment. “It says to me that you’re also a lousy deadbeat crook.” His face fell.

“But the good news?” Harley continued, “is that we’re gonna help ya!” She layered on the enthusiasm. Sad-sack ego trips like this were easy; they either reformed and became efficient, bitter middle management, or they didn’t and would be a real help organizing the low security prisoner’s chore pool. Either way was fine with Harley. Nigma signed. He attempted to smile, to match her broad and cheeky grin, but it was as awkward and crooked as him.

“Thank you, Dr…”

“Quinzel. One Q.” Harley turned her attention to her charting. She scribbled “OCD” under Axis 1; no one wrote out thirty-seven sequential rhyming riddles and placed them in geometrically determined locations around the city without being a little OCD. “Narcissistic PD/Anxiety NOD” she tentatively penciled in on Axis 2, with only a moment’s hesitation. He was a sweet enough little crazy, and the anxiety diagnosis would give her free reign to use the good drugs. This guy deserved the good drugs. Pathetic as he was. Like a wet puppy.

“You can go now.” She smiled with cheery, saccharine optimism. “Good luck, Mr. Nigma.”

When he was gone, Harley looked back to her papers, her face wiped clean of smirk or blush. Just the same old dull doctor mask or a cheery, friendly smile. A faint twinkle in her eye was all she let on of her vastly improved mood. Sad sack obsessives were a secret favourite, for reasons she couldn’t quite pin down.

“Next! Miss… S. Kyle!”

* * *

A gentle rainfall, near-rhythmic in it’s constant patter, was interrupted by the booming roar of an exploding rocket shell. Edward was jerked out of the meditative trance of his evening Sudoku. Explosions were usually a bad sign; unexpected ones more so. Especially right outside of his current lair.

Lair may have been too grand a word for it, Edward mused, poking his nose through the open crack of his chain-latched door. He peered up out of the alcove which shielded the front door of his basement-level bachelor suite from the worst of the Gotham rain. Instead, the rain pooled un-draining at his welcome mat.

Edward tightened the tie of his fluffy green bath robe as he unlatched the door and crept a single quiet step outside to see if he could identify the source of the noise. His door was on the corner of an old crumbly brick building in the not-so-great-but-could-be-worse part of town, and he had to crane up on his tip toes to see anything at street level from his stoop.

He had to squint to make out the red blob across the street through the rain. A distant “oops!” was the only warning he got before a second booming explosion sent the aforementioned blob flying towards him.

His attempt to scramble back inside and padlock the door was foiled by a wet, slick body slamming into his back as he retreated, sending him tumbling inside to the floor. Together, he and the body rolled hard into the back wall of his porch. Edward scrambled to gather his wits; amazingly, the human projectile beat him to it, and was up on its feet locking the door securely before he had even managed to smooth down his robe. He hauled himself up and turned to face the intruder, plastering on his best “evil super-villain” glare. It was somewhat undermined by the yellow duckies embroidered upon his slippers.

“Eddie!” A broad grin greeted him. Oh no. No, no no no. The fleshy cannonball was no meta, no hunk of Clayface, not even some durable cape. It was Harley Quinn. The Joker’s girl.

He was dead meat.

“Eddie!” She squealed again, bowling him back to the ground with a tackle of a hug. “What a coincidence!” Harley perched over him, straddling him, rainwater dripping from her tasselled hat into his eyes. Her hood had been knocked akimbo by the blast, and blond hair leaked out at the bangs, soggily hanging in her eyes. Edward blinked. He would be dead soon, no doubt, he may as well die under a beautiful sopping-wet woman in a skin-tight bodysuit. There were worse ways to go. He sighed and slumped into the ground beneath her.

“Harley Quinn… Welcome, I suppose.” Quinn grinned at the recognition. “I suppose The Joker will be along shortly?” Her grin vanished, shrunken into a tiny furious pout.

“I’m not with Mistah J anymore.” She crossed her arms and huffed, a ridiculous sight from Edward’s floor vantage. “He tried ta blow me up! Again!”

“Ah. That would be the… explosions?”

“Valentines chocolate.” Harley corrected.

“Ah.”

“Laced with nitro.”

“Ah.”

“I thought it was sweet at first. Ya know, new toy. Feed it to kids and stuff. Turns out he meant for ME to eat it!” She punctuated her anger with a kick, denting the wall and causing Nigma to jerk beneath her.

“Well that’s… not very nice.”

It was a terrifying sight, how quickly the manic clown-girl switched from full-hate to full-glee, her face morphing in a manic flicker. Before he knew what was happening, Harley had leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck in a spine-cracking hug.

“Oh Eddie, you’re a sweetie! I THOUGHT Mista J was bein’ sweet, but turns out he’s just a big ol’ jerk like always!” For a moment, her arms clenched tighter around him, effectively smashing his nose into her breasts. There were worse ways to die. “You ain’t secretly a jerk too, are ya?”

“No?” Edward asked into her chest.

“Damn rights!” Harley dropped his head, letting it clunk to the floor as she spring up to her feet. “I always knew I had the right read on you!” She cheered as she pulled him up as well. “A big sissy, but real sweet.” The conversation was moving at a startling pace, making leaps that Edward’s mildly-concussed brain was struggling to catch up to.

“We’ve… met?” he queried. For a moment, Quinn looked shocked, then dejected, then angry, flashing through extreme emotions at breakneck pace. Then she laughed. It wasn’t a scary laugh.

“Oooooh, yeah! The mask and stuff!” Harley pulled back her hood and grabbed the hem of Edward’s robe. He flushed and pushed it down to protect his modesty, but Harley just bent over and used the tail of it to wipe the makeup off her face. When she looked up at him, he was struck with a confusing wave of nostalgia.

“You were… a doctor. Doctor… Quinn. Quinzel.”

“One Q.” she agreed.

“Dear god, the Joker is converting.” Edward felt horrified; Harley giggled. Edward continued, trying not to be too terrified. “You know, it’s an awful breech of trust to do my confidential intake assessment and then run off and become a villain.”

“Super-villain!” she corrected him. Edward sighed, surrendering himself to an ‘interesting night’.

“And you are still in my house because…”

“Mista J always does a follow-up on his wacks.” The girl explained frankly; if she noticed how pale Edward went, it had no effect on her mood. “Besides, we got catchin’ up to do! How’ve ya been Eddie? Did they give you the good benzos? I TOLD them you shoulda gotten the lorazepam, but nooo, Dr. Fuller wanted to stick you on that cheap-shit generic name diazepam…”

“Um, yes. Er, no. I was on diazepam. And, um… haloperidol. For a while. But, you know how these things go. Get a good drug-stupor going, and then it’s time to break out before you know it…” He had been trying to joke, but she nodded sagely in agreement. Harley planted herself on the edge of his bed; there was no other clean sitting space in the tiny living room/bedroom. He resigned himself to the duty of hosting the maniac, and joined her on the bed edge.

“I’ve had SUCH a time since the last time we chatted!” Harley began, as if they were old friends who met for coffee. Not a psychopath with a Psy.D. and her former mental patient. “It’s been one heist after the next, plot after plot; I’ve hardly had a break. Mistah J doesn’t approve of restin’.” Harley signed. “I think I love him, ya know? He’s Mistah J, after-all. He’s just so… well… he’s Mistah J.” Still hyper-aware from the adrenalin, Edward thought she looked even sadder then she did insane. The polarized emotions of her mania seemed to be calming as she talked, leaving a dejected girl underneath.

“I always went for the bad boys, ya see” she continued, taking his confused silence for one of listening and support. “Mamma always told me, I’d end up with a real shmuck. Boy was that an understatement.” She looked at Eddie, and he nodded vigorously in support.

“The Joker is certainly a bad… boy.” the words felt very, very wrong in Nigma’s mouth, but it’s what she needed to hear.

“But wow what a kisser… and the sex! You don’t know wild sex until Mistah J’s rocked your socks off!” Harley grinned, a little bit of crazy seeping back in. But it was all right; it suited her. It was attractive, even, in a scary way. Edward settled one hand on hers, meant as a sign of nonverbal comfort and support.

Harley startled at the touch, but then turned to him with fresh eyes as if she had never seen him before.

“You’re a nice guy, Eddie. A real nice guy.”

“Um… thanks?” he ventured. The girl was the epitome of the internet generation; no attention span at all.

“Why don’t I ever go for the nice guys?” Harley leaned into his side, snuggling her head against his shoulder. Edward felt a blush rise, among other things which he furiously tried to quell. Logical patterns of human behaviour certainly implied a certain vector amongst which the night’s events might seem to be going. It was a vector, however, that Edward had an unfortunate history of miscalculating.

And then Harley leaned in further, wrapped an arm around his head, and pulled him into a kiss. She tasted like chocolate and the tangy chemical ash of demolitions.

The remnant adrenalin in both their veins was the only explanation for how suddenly horny they both were. Even in their world, death and destruction and dangerous capes, an explosion was an explosion. This, Edward justified, was why Harley Quinn was very suddenly sucking face in his bed, grinding into him, working her way ever closer inside his personal bubble. Not that he was complaining.

Harley, in all things, gave one hundred percent. Having made the decision to kiss Eddie, she quickly moved to straddle him, angling her head and moving his to deepen the next kiss, and the next even more. In short order she shoved him to the bed and knelt above, in total control.

“You’re a kink” she whispered into his ear, “but I think I like that.”

“Great?” Eddie mumbled back, to distracted to process exactly what that might mean.

Her kissed were playful, teasing things with just a flicker of tongue. Harley pushed him back on the bed with the sheer enthusiasm of her touch; her hands wandered and tested and toyed with the edge of his robe, then the hem, then crawling up his thigh. Edward felt the blood rush to his cheeks and groin; it had been a very, very long time since he had any sort of romantic encounter, and never with such an enthusiastic woman.

Harley continued to lead, ripping open Edward’s robe and nipping at his stubbled jaw. He couldn’t stop the shocked gasp that escaped him as the blast of cold air and Harley’s teeth each ghosted across his skin. She nibbled his jaw a moment longer, then straightened her torso into a kneel. She was between his pushed-open legs, and Edward felt terribly exposed, naked but for his bath-robed arms, splayed out before her.

The lusty gleam in her eyes made him feel like prey. It wasn’t exactly bad, but it was exposed and painstakingly vulnerable. Harley dug her fingers into the collar of her suit, stretching the material wide. Her suit must have been made of the same ultra-stretchy fare that the heroes used, as Harley was easily able to tug it down from the open collar to her waist, shimmying at her hips.

Edward stared dumbly as her breasts were suddenly exposed. Harley waggled her eyebrows; the invitation was ridiculous but, to Edward at that moment, irresistibly appealing. He tried to sit up, reach out, but she placed her palm on his chest and pushed him back to the bed, leaning down with him. Her free hand found his and pulled it to her breast. On reflex, he squeezed, gently massaging it, feeling and discovering and exploring the fresh new territory that has quite suddenly opened up to him. He brushed his thumb over her nipple, eliciting a deep, eager Marylyn Monroe-esc moan.

Harley pursed her lips into a flirty moue, sliding her costume past her hips and kicking it clumsily off her legs. It made a distant wet plop, falling off the foot of the bed. Edward could only just hold it together and keep from hyperventilating. His cock was raging at him, confused at the sudden jarring awakening and flooding his brain with ill-familiarized hormones and neural signals. “Breasts! Breasts!” it screamed at him, as if it expected him to know what to do with them. Hazarding a best guess, Edward cupped one hand around the small of Harley’s back and pulled her forward, at the same time using his other arm to prop himself up enough to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He sucked and licked down the line of her collar bone, pulling her closer and tighter. She cooed into his ear, alternating between carding her fingers through his hair and tugging at it in sharp, needy yanks.

Eventually, she pulled him back from her chest by the hair, bringing his head back to meet her eye to eye. There was a fire in hers; lust and obsession focused narrowly. Edward thought to compose a riddle. He had chosen a rhyme scheme and logic progression when all thought was derailed by a warm, wet heat settling atop his crotch. Still looking him straight in the eye, a brilliant and bright grin on her face, Harley reached down to grab his penis and direct it to it’s goal. Edward’s body seemed to be cheering, screaming joy at him. His brain was muddled in a hazy hormonal confusion, and consequently his natural reflexes slipped past him and cause him to thrust up. He and Harley gasped almost in unison.

She took over again, and he was more then happy to leave her to it. Harley ground into him, sliding up and down his body. He reached up, desperate to contribute, and cupped at her breasts. It was a poor contribution, by comparison, as he felt the wet warm heat of her vagina constrict and pulse around his cock in a steady, eager rhythm. But still, it was all he could gather his thoughts to even attempt. It was like haloperidol all over again, this stupor, with less of the drooling but still so many delicious, slick warm fluids and a quiver in his extremities with each deep thrust, Harley almost bouncing now, picking up her pace and gasping at his mouth.

She sat up, putting weight and gravity into each movement, a grinding push down and deep and in. From this angle Edward could see her labia, swollen and red and leaking around him. It was a surreal and powerful and delicious experience.

Feeling the pressing need in his groin, the bubbling energy and pressure of muscles preparing deep in his abdomen, the need to go faster and harder, he set his hands on her hips and drove up in time with her. Harley moaned, clenching tight around him, head thrown back and hair flying as she breathed louder into a gasp, into a squealing uninhibited joyful cry as he let loose, spilling into her.

“Oh, Mistah J!”

A chilling silence stilled the room; motion halted, sound suppressed. Slowly, Edward let his eyes pan up to Harley’s face.

Her grin was guilty, like a child who spilled milk on the carpet. The look was wholly out of place on the woman currently sitting on his cock, atop the satisfied, post-fuck exhaustion she puffed out with each heavy breath.

“Oops?” She squeaked out between pants.

This was, of course, the exactly perfect moment for a gigantic vine to burst through his bedroom wall and flail angrily at the bed and it’s occupants.

“Holy shit!” Edward scrambled back, against the wall behind his bed, pulling Harley with him. She made a faint “meep!” noise, falling into him. On the far side of the room a substantial hole was crumbling in his wall, and a tall, angry looking redhead was stepping in from the shadows and dust. The woman entered, paused, and her angry stare found it’s mark. She looked straight into Edward’s terror-filled, hormone-confused eyes.

“Harley. What is this?” The red head asked calmly. Harley turned around, still nested in Edward’s legs.

“Ivy!” She chirped, happy recognition in her voice. “You got my text?”

“I got your text.” Ivy replied dryly. “You said Joker tried to blow you up. I came fully armed. With the cavalry.” Behind her, Catwoman was just now climbing through the rubble. She dusted herself off, took a look around the room, and put her hand over her mouth to cover her laugh.

“This is a hell of an ‘SOS’ moment, Harley.” Catwoman smirked. “Looks like you have The Riddler well… handled.” She was trying, and failing not to laugh at Edward’s desperate, confused attempt to hide behind the petite blond woman.

“Oh! Eddie isn’t the trouble, Kitty!” Harley beamed. “In fact, he was just makin’ me feel all better about Mistah J!”

“Well Harley,” Ivy waved her vines back into the wall, where they seemed to shrink and vanish. “Are you ready to go? I don’t want to do two emergency get-away runs in one night. Especially… unnecessary ones.” She was still glaring daggers into Edward; he glanced warily at where the big, sharp, spiky vines had been moments before.

“Ok, ok, hold your horses, let me put a shirt on!” Harley scrambled out of the bed, hastily crawling back into her costume. Edward pulled his robe back over him, a weak attempt to recover a shred of dignity as he cowered in the corner. Harley spun on her heel, dazzling him with her brightest smile.

“That was a blast, Eddie. You sure are a nice guy. Let’s do this again some time!” She waved and blew him a kiss and a wink. Selina gave a quick, flirty salute and dove into the darkness of the hole in his wall. Ivy, with a huff and a last spiteful glance, followed. Harley was last through. She paused for a last look. Edward cleared his throat.

“Tonight was… unexpected.” he began. “But amazing. Unexpectedly amazing” he hastily added. Harley giggled.

“Don’t go getting yourself killed by Mistah J, ya hear?” Harley offered in parting as she too slipped into the shadows and away.

For Edward it was a horrifying jerk back to reality. He took a moment to survey the damage. One wall was a mess of brick rubble and drywall dust. There was another, distant explosion and a scream outside. His subconscious tried, and failed, to keep at bay the memory of Joker’s terrible, terrible laughter down the echoing halls of Arkham. He shuttered. That laughter could be, no, WAS expected outside at any minute.

It had been a terrible lair anyway. The landlord, an old Jewish woman with too many cats, was awfully cranky. She would be down right intolerable in the morning, and that’s without even seeing the hole in her wall. Edward made the executive decision, for the second time in the night, with no logic or plans or thoughts or riddles, to follow his gut instinct.

He secured his robe in place, slipped back into his ducky slippers, and sprinted after the three women through the hole in his wall.

“Wait! Wait for me! For the love of god, don’t leave me here where _he_ is going to be!”


End file.
